It may be some hero daring
    Shall that very thing be wearing
    When he ventures forth to give
    Life that other men may live. 
    He may braver wield the saber
    As a tribute to your labor,
    And for that, which you have knitted,
    Better for his task be fitted. 
    When the thread has left your finger,
    Something of yourself may linger,
    Something of your lovely beauty
    May sustain him in his duty.

    Some one’s boy that was a baby
    Soon shall wear it, and it may be
    He will write and tell his mother
    Of the kindness of another,
    And her spirit shall caress you,
    And her prayers at night shall bless you. 
    You may never know its story,
    Cannot know the grief or glory
    That are destined now and hover
    Over him your wool shall cover,
    Nor what spirit shall invade it
    Once your gentle hands have made it.

    Little woman, hourly sitting,
    Something for a soldier knitting,
    ’Tis no common garb you’re making,
    These, no common pains you’re taking. 
    Something lovely, holy, lingers
    O’er the needles in your fingers
    And with every stitch you’re weaving
    Something of yourself you’re leaving. 
    From your gentle hands and tender
    There may come a nation’s splendor,
    And from this, your simple duty,
    Life may win a fairer beauty.

         A Good Soldier

He writes to us most every day, and how his letters thrill us! 
I can’t describe the joys with which his quaint expressions fill us. 
He says the military life is not of his selection,
He’s only soldiering to-day to give the Flag protection. 
But since he’s in the army now and doing duties humble,
He’ll do what all good soldiers must, and he will never grumble.

He’s not so keen for standing guard, a lonely vigil keeping,
“But when I must,” he writes to us, “they’ll never find me sleeping! 
I hear a lot of boys complain about the tasks they set us
And there’s no doubt that mother’s meals can beat the ones they get us,
But since I’m here to do my bit, close to the job I’m sticking;
I’ll take whatever comes my way and waste no word in kicking.

    “I’d like to be a captain, dad, a major or a colonel,
    I’d like to get my picture in some illustrated journal;
    I don’t exactly fancy jobs that now and then come my way,
    Like picking bits of rubbish up that desecrate the highway. 
    But still I’ll do those menial tasks as cheerfully as could one,
    For while I am a private here I’m going to be a good one.

“A soldier’s life is not the way I’d choose to make my living,
But now I’m in the ranks to serve, my best to it I’m giving. 
Oh, I could name a dozen jobs that I’d consider finer,
But since I’ve got this one to do I’ll never be a whiner. 
I’m just a private in the ranks, but take it from my letter,
They’ll never fire your son for one who’ll do his duty better.”